


Ziyastair Ficlet Collection

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:08:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mostly unrelated ficlets and minifics that were originally posted only on my tumblr, all including Alistair and Ziya Surana as the main characters.</p><p>Ratings range from Gen to Explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

Alistair looked up from the map, one corner of his mouth tugging up into a wry smile. “No, but people usually aren’t trying to flatter me into lending them money, seeing as I don’t have any. Why? Did someone call me handsome? It wasn’t Morrigan was it? No, no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

From his bedroll, near Alistair’s tent, Ziya sighed fondly. “It wasn’t Morrigan,” he said.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Alistair said and sat back on his hands, rolling his neck as if it was stiff. "I’m not sure I would’ve been able to handle that." He glanced at Ziya, grinning. "So who was it then?"

"You’re cute when you’re dense," Ziya said. He rolled onto his back, folding his arms under his head. The sky above him stretched endlessly on, black and alive with pinpoints of perfect light. When he closed his eyes, he could still imagine the stone ceiling of Kinloch Hold, though he would never spend another night staring at those stones.

"I’m not dense…am I?"

"Entirely so."

"Well, thanks for that. You’re such a friend," Alistair said, rolling his eyes.

"You’re the one who can’t take a compliment without making a fool out of yourself." One of those beautiful pinpoints of light moved, streaking across the dark sky. Ziya followed it until it disappeared.

"You think I’m handsome, then?" Alistair asked after a short silence.

"As a start. I have a lot of other words I could use, but some of them aren’t repeatable in polite company,” Ziya replied. He rolled to his side, propping his head up on his hand, elbow dug into the bedroll. Alistair chuckled, ducking his head and rubbing his red ear. “Is that a problem?”

“Well, no, not especially.” With his head down still, Alistair furrowed his brow. “Just not sure how to…process that.”

“I can think of a few ways.”

With a nervous laugh, Alistair stood. “I should go for a walk, I think.”

“Chantry boys, so dramatic” Ziya said with a fond sigh. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it to myself.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, now did I?” Alistair crouched near Ziya’s bedroll, bracing one hand on the ground. “Maybe, just maybe, I’m a little flustered that the person I’m most fond of thinks I’m cute. Now who’s being dramatic?” He straightened out and rounded Ziya’s bedroll, heading towards the edge of camp.

With unexpected butterflies darting around his stomach, Ziya pressed his face into his hands and laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

"I swear to the Maker, if one more tree attacks me, I’m taking a torch to the entire forest." Alistair settled heavily onto the ground by the campfire, pressing one hand to the opposite shoulder and rolling the shoulder in its socket. "I’m more than tired of wolves too," he added.

"I wouldn’t say that too loudly," Ziya warned. "You might provoke them."

"The wolves, or the trees?"

"Either. Did you hurt your shoulder?" Ziya sat lightly next to Alistair, eyeing him as he dropped his hands to his lap, cracking his knuckles.

"I’m alright, just sore. This is the most real fighting I’ve ever done. I should have realized we wouldn’t have much downtime in the middle of a blight." He glanced over his shoulder at Ziya, his ears burning when Ziya rested a hand on his arm.

"Is it throbbing, or is it more of a dull ache?" Ziya rolled Alistair’s sleeve up far enough to get a look at his bare arm. Though his skin was intact there was deep old bruise, greenish yellow, on the muscle Alistair had been rubbing.

"More of an ache, I guess," Alistair answered, his voice quiet, and lower than usual. He stared down at his hands, giving them all of his attention as he twisted the ring on his right hand.

“You have a very large bruise here, though it’s pretty old.” Ziya rubbed Alistair’s shoulder lightly. “Maybe it would feel better if I massaged it a bit?”

“No! Uh, no, thank you. You don’t need to do that,” Alistair said without raising his head.

“I’m a healer, Alistair. Things are going to get really awkward if you’re too shy to let me touch you.”

“I’m not shy,” he snapped, turning to look at Ziya again. “It’s just…complicated.”

Ziya rested back on his heels, his bright eyes catching light from the fire, flashing yellowish green once, catlike, when he tilted his head. “I don’t see how. In the circle we probably would already be fucking.”

“See, that’s what I mean! Maybe you don’t take this seriously, but I do, and I’m not sure I can…be with someone who doesn’t.” Alistair covered his face with his hands after speaking. “Nevermind,” he said, muffled. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about this with the blight going on.”

Ziya smiled weakly, now staring at his own hands. “What you need to remember is that in the circle, relationships were forbidden. Not only that, they were dangerous. Getting into a relationship basically made you a target, or worse, it made the person you cared about a target.” Ziya glanced up to see Alistair looking at him. “Old habits die hard.”

“I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot sometimes,” Alistair said with a sigh. He pressed his hand to his eyes and pulled it down his face. “This whole thing just feels insane. I mean, I’m not crazy, am I? The only thing we have in common is that we’re both grey wardens.”

“We’ve got a Qunari, a Crow, a woman who sees religious visions, and a giant golem that hates birds, and you think  _you’re_  the crazy one?”

“Heh. I suppose you’re right.” Alistair lifted himself to his feet. “Sometimes I just feel lost, you know?” He extended a hand to help Ziya up, clasping firmly when he took it, letting him use his weight as a counterbalance to stand.

“Well, if you’re lost, I’m lost with you,” Ziya said with a grin. “At least the trees aren’t moving anymore.”

“That would seem like an upside, now wouldn’t it?” Alistair asked. They both smiled, then Alistair glanced down at his hand, as if only just realizing he was still holding Ziya’s. He met Ziya’s eyes, swallowed, and wet suddenly dry lips, a nervous smile crossing his face.

Then Ziya closed the distance, taking one step forward, still grasping Alistair’s hand, and standing on his toes to clear the small height difference between them. Lightly, carefully, he pressed his lips to Alistair’s, sliding shut his eyes and sighing through his nose. Alistair dropped his hand, but only to use it to cup the back of his head, to draw him near as he parted his lips and tilted into the kiss, immediately lost in it. When they parted, he was gasping, but he pulled him near again, this time cradling the back of his neck and his smooth jaw, unbearably needy.

Ziya broke the kiss, stepping back out of his grasp to catch his breath, his pupils blown in the dim light, eyes flashing green instead of iridescent blue.

“Wow. I. Wow.” Alistair put his hand over his mouth, his cheeks crimson. “I hope that was alright,” he said after a moment.

“Are you joking? If I’d know you were that good of a kisser I wouldn’t have let you wait so bloody long.” Ziya grinned and lifted a hand to stroke Alistair’s cheek, a swarm of butterflies spawning in his stomach when Alistair leaned gently into his hand.

“I just, I thought it would be strange, since…”

“Don’t ruin it.” Ziya raised a brow.

“No, no you’re right. So I’m a good kisser, am I? Maybe I ought to try again, just to make sure.” Alistair leaned down this time, his arms firm around Ziya’s waist as he kissed him in the growing darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Alistair, having learned too late that life is a cruel master that plots to rip away those you care about, would not let Ziya Surana go. He was fine, so said the palace healer, called on since Alistair refused to let Ziya assess his own health, but was instructed to take a few days of bed rest for his understandable exhaustion.

"I still can’t believe it’s over," Alistair said quietly. "I can’t believe you’re here."

Ziya rested close to his side, one hand loosely grasping Alistair’s, tightening to acknowledge his words. He still drifted in and out of consciousness, as he did immediately after the battle, and when he woke fully it was often only to change position and draw Alistair closer. His hair, loose from its customary braid, hung around his face in unruly curls, growing more wild every time he shifted his head on the pillow beneath it.

"I bet Duncan would’ve been proud." Alistair swallowed the sandy lump in his throat for the third time that day.

"He would be," Ziya murmured. His eyes slid open halfway,and he lifted his hand to Alistair’s cheek. "You don’t have to stay here all day," he added through a stifled yawn. "I’m horrible company when I’m asleep."

"I was convinced that I would lose you," Alistair said, his voice stern but wavering. "I’m still worried I’m going to wake up and this will all have been a dream. The Blight over, the archdemon dead. They’re mounting its bloody head on a plaque. It’s too surreal to make myself believe it’s true."

As he spoke, Ziya released his hand and sleepily sat up, grabbing the pillow beneath his head and placing over Alistair’s chest. He scooted nearer to him, lowering his head onto the pillow above Alistair’s heart. He nuzzled in, draping an arm over his broad shoulder while curling the other against his own chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Promise me.” Alistair’s voice broke, and he pressed his lips together until they were nothing but a thin, pale line. “I can’t—”

Ziya tilted his chin, just enough motion to meet Alistair’s welling eyes, and pressed his lips softly to Alistair’s mouth. “I promise.”

With a strangled noise, choked down with gritted teeth, Alistair gave up on letting Ziya get comfortable and crushed him close, burying his face in black, wild curls that didn’t end up hiding the hot tears sliding down his cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

Between the stacks of the library at Denerim Palace, Ziya Surana strained for a book just out of his reach. It was at the very top of the shelf, stacked on top of the neat rows of books, and its odd placement immediately sparked his curiosity. The ladder used to reach higher shelves around the walls was not able to be detached from its metal runner, and there were no footstools or stepladders in the library itself. Ziya stretched onto his toes, wriggling fingers that brushed only the spines of the books below.

Ziya gasped as a warm body pressed to his back, another hand passing over his to grab the book he was looking for.

“It occurs to me that you could have used magic, love,” Alistair said. He wrapped his arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“I—yes. I could have,” Ziya said sheepishly. “I thought you were in meetings with counselors and advisers all day.” He tilted his head back to the feeling of Alistair’s fingers on his neck, brushing his thick curls out of the way to make room for the kiss he pressed there.

“I couldn’t stand it any longer.” Alistair sighed. “It’s dreadful, and all I could think of how beautiful you were this morning.” Ziya hugged the arm around his waist, leaning his weight back into Alistair’s body. “Sometimes I wish we’d gone off with the grey wardens. I wouldn’t be stuck with politics and diplomacy. Just you and I, sleeping under the stars.”

“In a tent. On the rocky ground. Covered in mud and filth.”

“Spoiled.”

“You made me royalty. If anyone’s to blame, it’s you.” Ziya tilted back his head as Alistair nuzzled hard into the junction of his neck and shoulder, a soft, contented noise slipping from his lips when his hand dropped from his waist to slide over his belly and between his legs. “Someone could see us,” he said.

“Someone could see me touching my husband. How tragic.” He pushed his lower body hard against Ziya, pinning him to the stacks as he stroked him through his robes. “I recall you enjoying the idea of that.” Ziya shuddered, and raised one arm over his head to hold Alistair’s there, rocking against his hand in silence. It took only a moment for Ziya to pass excitement and tumble into orgasm, bucking hard, only a muffled whimper escaping his lips. He leaned back against Alistair, breathless.

“Maker’s cock,” he groaned.

“Thought you might like that.” Alistair kissed his ear. “I…locked the door behind me,” he admitted.

“I’d guessed that.” Ziya turned, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and kissed him lightly. “But you’re wonderful, and I need to change my smalls.” Alistair laughed, leaned his forehead against Ziya’s, and handed him his book, which he’d sat on a lower shelf after retrieving.

“You’d better do that then. Dinner with the Emissary from Rivain in an hour.”

“You’re terrible,” Ziya said with a grin.

“Learned from the best, love.”


	5. Chapter 5

Alistair was beginning to doubt the efficacy of his imagination. Not that it hadn’t served him well in the past—he still lay awake at night with a thousand horrific scenarios for how a battle with the darkspawn could end poorly—but there were areas of his fantasy life that, upon inspection, were clearly lacking in creativity. Take Ziya, for example. When Duncan had sent word of a new recruit, he had immediately imagined a warrior—another Jory, perhaps—until he read the rest of the letter to find he was coming from the Circle of Magi. Even then, great swathes of his mind were concerned with training and technique and, most importantly, making Duncan proud, and there was no space for daydreaming about new recruits.

He never could have dreamed him up anyway. He had no reference for that kind of beauty, for that fluid brilliance, for the tremulous possession of his heart. And when he fell for him—and he fell fast, perhaps he jumped—he had chaste fantasies, the kind where taking his hand was enough, the kind where kisses were frequent and tender, but kitten-soft. He did not envision the strength of a warm hand on the back of his head, forcing him down to meet hungry lips—and forcing was the wrong word, one cannot force a starving animal to eat—or clenching his hands in the furred shoulders of robes, of the wanting—pounding and vicious—keeping him awake at night, staring at his tent, rehearsing conversations a thousand times and still getting stuck on  _I love you._

Ziya kissed him like he was precious and small, like he mattered, like his body was only a vessel for a violently passionate heart. He was all lips, all tongue, all nails on the back of his neck, all long, lean body pressed hard,  _all hard_ , all hands, all throaty murmurs and clairvoyant eyes.

_You want this?_

He had never imagined how strongly he could. 


	6. Chapter 6

Ziya lifts a small, gilt spoon filled with frothy cream and one perfect cherry to his lips. He licks them once, inhaling deeply before sliding the spoon into his mouth. A soft noise escapes his nose and he closes his eyes. The cherry is sweet and heavy with rum, and the cream is fresh, smooth and cool, despite the miserable Fereldan summer. He sits back in his chair, holding the goblet in one hand, spoon in the other, lost for a moment in the divine pleasure of his sugar high. Across the table, on the opposite side of several visiting dignitaries, Alistair swallows hard, hiding it behind a quiet cough into his fist, turning his attention immediately to the Arl of Amaranthine. 

Ziya takes his time. Nobody asks questions of him anyway. Alistair is the main attraction, and few of the current visitors had extended more than necessary courtesy, complimenting Ziya’s on his aquamarine summer robes and the silver combs holding his loose hair out of his eyes. The only person who notices Ziya savoring his trifle, eyes closed, posture relaxed, is Alistair. He watches Ziya, trying to laugh just politely enough at another bad joke while hiding the effects of seeing the tip of Ziya’s pink tongue in between spoonfuls. 

Goblet empty, sated and cool, Ziya excuses himself from the table. He nods politely at the visitors, smiles at his husband, and leaves the table, retreating to his rooms with the sort of comfortable poise that normally comes from a lifetime of nobility. 

Later, when the guests settle, when the heat breaks, Alistair seeks Ziya out. He is never where he ought to be, it makes for a pleasant hunt, and a more pleasant prize when he finds him in their bedroom, taking down his hair, sitting with his robes loose around his waist. 

"You make me crazy," Alistair says as he sits at his side. "I can’t remember a thing that happened over dinner." 

"Nothing?" Ziya asks. 

"Nothing but that bloody dessert you were eating." 

Ziya smiles, places his hand against Alistair’s cheek, and kisses the other. “Good.”


	7. Chapter 7

Alistair Theirin is in over his head.

He watches Ziya unclasp the jeweled collar at his throat,  his fingers sly and slow even when he touches himself. His middle finger grazes his adam’s apple, and Alistair realizes that while he was ready, he wasn’t prepared, and there is a striking difference between the two. In the darkness of the tent, Ziya’s eyes are yellow-green, catching all available light and reflecting it back to Alistair—visual confirmation that he’s being watched. He slides down his robe, and he looks more comfortable naked than he did with the furry pauldrons and turquoise and cloudy jewels.

"Tent’s a little small for the two of us," Alistair says, and there’s sweat on the back of his neck when Ziya’s sliding his fingers behind it, stroking his spine, easing him up with not strength, but compulsion.

"I think there’s more than enough room," Ziya says against his lips, and he drags his fingernails lightly up Alistair’s bare thigh. "Second thoughts?"

Alistair shakes his head, breathes deep and rests his forehead against Ziya’s. “No, love, just…” He swallows again, dizzy, drunk on the smell of clean water and spice at the nape of Ziya’s neck. “Go slow.”

Ziya smiles, and the hand on his thigh slips between his legs, back, down, inside. “Only until you want it hard.”

Alistair covers his mouth with his fist and bites down, wanting, shuddering, and completely in over his head.


	8. Chapter 8

It is pre-dawn when Alistair is dragged groggily from sleep by the throaty grumbling growl of a Mabari. He groans, and, with the inconsiderate idiocy of the half-awake, he elbows the man laying next to him in attempts to wake him.

"Ziya," he half-whines, "Your dog is in the tent and he woke me up."

Ziya grunts and opens one eye to the darkness of the tent, shadows quickly forming solid shapes as his vision clears. He sits up on his elbows, seeing what Alistair cannot; Dane has his haunches inside of the tent, but he’s not laying down. Instead, the mabari is huddled, his belly flat, limbs taut, and a warning growl is rumbling in his throat.

"Get up," Ziya hisses, and shakes Alistair’s shoulder roughly. Alistair whines and shoves his face into his arm.

"It’s not morning yet, jussletmesleep."

"There’s something out there!" Ziya says, his voice raising with urgency. As Alistair groggily sits up, Dane starts to bark loudly, taking to his feet and galloping into camp. Date yelps, and Ziya is rushing out of the tent after him, the ground trembling as Ziya works up to casting a spell to shake the earth beneath their feet.

The darkspawn that had wandered into the camp, having broken from a nearby horde is dispatched quickly, it’s black blood killing the grass where it falls. Ziya crouches and pats Dane on the head, while halfway out of the tent, Alistair eyes them sheepishly.

"Right," he says as he lifts himself to his feet. "Always trust the mabari."

Dane barks, spins in a circle once, and barrels towards Alistair like a joyful puppy.

"You’ve gone and made him feel special now," Ziya said with a smile. "He’s going to follow you around forever now."

"Well, at least nothing will sneak up on me."


	9. Chapter 9

With a nervous laugh, Alistair lifted his head “Oh, I seem to still be alive. That’s unexpected.” He lowered his head again and winced. “This isn’t all my blood, is it?”

“‘fraid so,” Ziya said from where he crouched above him.

"Well, that can’t be good."

"You’re going to be just fine." Alistair felt Ziya’s hands under his head, lifting his head and shoulders, releasing him when he had positioned his legs underneath and he could rest against them.

"I don’t feel like I’ll be fine." Alistair swallowed with some difficulty. "What happened?"

"An ogre picked you up and threw you against the wall." Ziya stroked his hair softly.

"Right. Might have been better if I didn’t remember that one."

"You asked."

"I did, and what a terrible idea that was." Alistair opened his eyes to look up at Ziya. "Heyyyy, what are you doing? I’m going to get blood all over your robes."

"It’s all right. I had to use our last vial of lyrium to keep you alive." Ziya smiled weakly. "I’m very tired, love." Alistair raised a hand and brushed Ziya’s dark cheek lightly, leaving a bloody smear on his jawline.

"Saved me again, did you?" Ziya nodded, and Alistair slowly sat up. "I’ll make this all up to you eventually," he said and carefully drew him near, wincing again when Ziya rested against his shoulder. "What would I do without you, my dear?"

Ziya sighed fondly. “You’d do just fine.”

"I’d bleed to death, and you know it. But I appreciate your misplaced faith in me." Alistair kissed his temple, and they sat quietly together on the still battlefield while the others set camp and the sun slipped below the horizon.


	10. Chapter 10

"That was one incredible bottle of wine," Alistair said with a little more slur than one normally wanted to hear in a king’s speech. "Remind me to thank the Orlesians."

"It was from Rivain." Beside him on the ostentatious bed, Ziya was clumsily pawing at the fasteners on his dress. "Or Antiva, somewhere that isn’t Orlais." He dropped his hands to the side with a huff. "Help me out of this. The little hooks are all funny and I can’t get them to work."

Alistair chuckled and leaned onto Ziya, nuzzling amorously into his neck. “Maybe I’d rather just pull it up.”

In a half-drunk tangle of heavy limbs and laughing that ended with Ziya on his back with his skirts bunched around his waist, Alistair pinned him to the bed. He kissed Ziya’s belly through the lace, then down, to brush his lips against Ziya’s smallclothes and the straining cock beneath them. Ziya settled back contentedly, lifting his ass off the bed just long enough for Alistair to strip off his smalls and toss them playfully to the side.

Ziya took a deep, trembling breath, his train of thought permanently lost when Alistair took his cock into his mouth and, with admirable skill, took the length of his shaft entirely down his throat. With one hand twisted into the sheet, and the other stroking Alistair’s sweat-damp hair, Ziya closed his eyes, writhed, and sunk into intoxicated, shameless sensation.

"Maybe we should just thank the Orlesians on principle …" 


	11. Chapter 11

"Out of my way, fool." The mage pushed past him, stomping impressively loudly for a man wearing soft-soled silk boots. Alistair rested his hands on his hips as he shook his head at the exiting mage, pausing when he saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye.

He turned, and found himself face to face with the brightest set of blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were lyrium-blue, nearly glowing bright sky blue, and they narrowed his focus so much that all he could see was blue iris and white sclera. Then he blinked, and he saw the man in robes, a staff strapped to his back. His skin was dark and warm, an orangish brown, and his loose, curly hair—how he’d seen his eyes with that hair in the way—was pitch. A smile played lightly over the man’s thin lips as Alistair followed the line of his cheekbones to his delicate, long, elvhen ears.

He was beautiful.

Alistair realized he’d been staring, so he took a step forward to introduce himself to the mage. The mage smiled again when he drew closer, and he realized then that he’d forgotten his name. The only thing he could think about was that first flash of unearthly blue.

Alistair cleared his throat. “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” he said, and meant it more than his sarcastic tone could ever imply.

The mage laughed prettily, and Alistair’s heart skipped a beat.


	12. Chapter 12

Alistair proposed on the battlefield. The archdemon was dead, a pile of bones and flesh where once had stood the death of the entire country, and next to its great head lay the man who killed it, the man whose smile left the future King of Ferelden weak in his knees. Maric’s sword lay forgotten across the battlefield—they’d find it three days later, picked up by an overzealous reveler who had planned to keep it as a souvenir and returned out of guilty conscience. But then it didn’t matter, what mattered was Ziya’s crumpled body, still clutching a bloody sword tight and awkward in his hands. 

"Ziya." Alistair crouched, dropping his gauntlets so he could take Ziya’s sweaty, bloody head into his hands and push matted curls out of his eyes. "Ziya," he said again, louder, trying to be heard over the din of excitement. With his thumb he tried to brush off a smudge of blood under Ziya’s eye and only smeared it. He lowered himself down, to put his ear to Ziya’s chest, straining to hear his heart.

"Is it dead?" Ziya asked, and Alistair lifted his head to see him squinting, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. "I think I hit it." 

Alistair laughed in relief and pulled Ziya into his arms, cradling him there next to the corpse of the great dragon and resting his forehead to Ziya’s. “You did more than hit it, my love.” Ziya’s eyes fluttered shut and Alistair drew him near. “No, no, no, love, you need to stay with me. I can’t do this without you, you know that.” Ziya smiled weakly and reached an arm up to drape over Alistair’s shoulder. 

"You’re going to have to. You’re King, now," he said lightly. 

"And you’ll be at my side," Alistair said firmly, then faltered. "If, if that’s what you want." 

"Did you just propose marriage?" Ziya asked. "I think you did, but I also hit my head very badly so—" 

"Yes, Ziya, dear heart." He nuzzled to his face, eyes closed. "You will, won’t you?" 

It was Ziya’s turn to laugh, and he answered with a nod and a kiss that bruised Alistair’s mouth and drew cheers from the crowd.


	13. Chapter 13

Ziya’s body was comprised of long, straight lines. When he sprawled on their new bed, sinking into the soft, white coverlet, it was with his dark skin bare, his inky hair curly and loose. When he stretched from his fingertips to his toes, the muscles in his lean legs trembled, but he was unable to touch both ends of the bed. He rolled onto his belly and laughed like a child.

Alistair sat next to him on the edge of the enormous bed, brushing a hand between his his shoulder blades to trace his spine from the base of his neck to the small of his back. There were dimples there, thumb-imprint indentations above the one part of Ziya’s body that wasn’t flat. Alistair let his hand rest there, on skin still over warm from a hot bath, just grazing the sweet curve of Ziya’s shapely ass.

"This bed is too big for us," Ziya said, his voice muffled by the plush pillow under his head. Alistair couldn’t argue with that, so he remained quiet. "And too fancy too," added Ziya with a slur betraying the influence of the heavy drink served at dinner and the after party.

"You think?"

"There’s a golden dragon on the headboard!" Ziya gestured, as if the ostentatious art was easily missed. "And curtains," he added.

"It gets cold in castles at night. The curtains are to keep the bed warm.”

“Hmmph. Must be pretty boring in castles if they need curtains to keep the beds warm.”

“If you keep reminding me what my relatives have done in this room, they’re all you’ll have to keep warm too,” Alistair said with a grimace.

“I don’t want that.” Sitting up, Ziya grabbed handfuls of the front of Alistair’s shirt and, with impressive strength for an elven mage, yanked him on top of him. “Not when I could have my big, handsome Prince instead.”

“King, now,” Alistair said, his cheeks flushing.

“I know. I wanted to hear you say it.”

Ziya kissed him, light and long, the press of his lips soft but insistent until Alistair’s hand slid behind his head, fingers buried in his long, wild hair.

“Do you remember when you were too nervous to kiss me?” Ziya asked, the smile on his lips creeping up to his shining eyes.

“Thank the Maker I got over that. It would have made the wedding terribly awkward.” He met Ziya’s lips again, this time with more fervor, the weight of his body pressing Ziya further into the mattress. When he stopped for a breath, Ziya was grinning.

“What’s that face for?” Alistair asked, suspicious for good reason, considering Ziya’s past antics.

“I was just thinking that it seems like we won’t need the curtains after all.”

“Heh, no. I don’t think we will.”


End file.
